


The Bench

by Yoite



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Bad Flirting, Dominant Crowley, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Good Omens Bingo 2021, Gym Instructor Crowley, Gyms, Horny Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human AU, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Innuendo, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male Crowley (Good Omens), Power Play, Prompt Fill, Sexual Tension, Shameless Crowley Appreciation, shameless flirting, the bench - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/pseuds/Yoite
Summary: In which Anthony J. Crowley is a gym instructor and Zira Fell breaks a sweat.A Human AU one-shot, rated mature for sexual themes and a slightly domly Crowley. Written for Good Omens Bingo 2021 (prompt: "the bench").In fact though, this is just shameless Crowley appreciation. I have no excuse.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 44
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	The Bench

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely peeps over on the GOB Discord Server for the ongoing support, especially Sway, who gave me an idea for one of the bits here.
> 
> This is the first AU I have ever written, in any fandom! Hope it turned out ok..
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I know absolutely nothing about gyms or exercising, so I honestly have no idea if the bits relating to the actual exercise make sense. Please feel free to correct me if you have any insight. I'm too lazy for in-depth research. 😅

There were a few perfectly valid reasons why Zira chose his local 'Burns Like Hell' gym franchise for a taster session. It was in comfortable walking distance, even for someone who was a little bit on the podgy side. The monthly membership would not set him back the price of a small Scottish castle, like some other London gyms. He also liked the idea of a complimentary Roman steam room.

The impossibly toned, bite-worthy arse of the indoor rowing class instructor was not technically a valid reason, but it was a welcome extra touch, figuratively speaking.

Zira would admire that perky derriere every morning on his way to work, jiggling and twerking, teasing him through the brightly lit window. Nobody should be that bouncy and energetic while getting middle-aged women to exercise at the most ungodly hour, but Zira wasn't complaining. 

So, one day, he finally plucked up the courage, filled in an online form, confirmed he wasn't a robot by randomly clicking on blurry pictures of traffic lights, and there he was, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for his introduction.

His appointment was scheduled for 11 am, but Zira arrived early and spent some time inspecting the staff pictures on the wall. He found him straight away, there was something about him that instantly caught the eye, even in that flat, printed, slightly off-colour form.

'Anthony J. Crowley.'

Even on that semi-serious, professional picture he sported a cheeky smile from underneath a mop of barely tamed ginger hair. Zira could swear that he was showing his middle finger to the photographer below the cut-off.

"Mr Fell?"

He turned around. There was a generic, unnecessary guy welcoming him to the gym. And next to him, within arm's reach, was Mr Crowley.

"Blah, blah, blah-di-blah", the generic guy informed him. Zira shook his hand with just the required amount of politeness while letting his gaze slide up and down Mr Crowley's frame. He wore the same uniform as all the other instructors, a pale mauve polo and black Lycra shorts that stopped just above the knees. Yet, somehow, both items looked tighter on him, as if he'd ordered them a size smaller on purpose.

".. and this will be your instructor for the rowing session tomorrow morning, Anthony Crowley, he'll give you a quick tour", the unnecessary guy finally got to the good part, yielding the floor to his colleague.

"Hi, I'm Ant", Mr Crowley gave a warm smile as he stretched out a hand, "known around these parts as 'the Crowing Machine'". 

The generic guy rolled his eyes at that, making it quite clear that this was wishful thinking territory, but Zira didn't care.

"I know who you are", he babbled.

Mr Crowley's hand was as warm as his smile, wrapping around his fingers with firm, reassuring pressure. 

"Uh, I mean, I was just looking at your picture, over there.."

They were still shaking hands a few moments later when the instructor raised one wry eyebrow at him.

"And you are.. ?"

Oh, right. He had forgotten about that part. Introducing himself. Breathing.

"Hello.. I'm Zira. Known universally as 'the guy who does your taxes'. Nice to meet you."

He instantly scrunched up his face, his attempt at a joke was rather pitiful, but Mr Crowley didn't seem to mind. His eyes were that translucent shade of light brown that looked almost golden. They seemed to be giving Zira a subtle wink, but he was likely just imagining things. He could imagine many interesting things right now.

"I'll leave you in Ant's capable hands, then, enjoy the tour."

The unnecessary guy finally had the decency to leave them alone. Well, there were about fifty people grunting and sweating all around them, but that didn't seem to matter, somehow.

"Yeah, as the boss man just said, welcome to 'Burns Like Hell', where we are committed to making you look like an angel."

Zira bit down a grin. It had to be exasperating for Mr Crowley, having to say that awfully cheesy, scripted line to each new customer. 

Those hands looked capable indeed though as they picked up a clipboard, large but not beefy, with slim, strong wrists, long fingers, well-pronounced knuckles and just the right amount of veins showing.

"So.. Zira", Mr Crowley was flicking through the print-out, "can I call you 'Z'? Has a nice vibe to it."

"You can call me whatever you like", Zira blurted out, instantly turning a crimson red. Damn this guy, there was something miraculous about him that made the accountant.. whatever the opposite of 'tongue-tied' was.

"Noted", one corner of Mr Crowley's mouth quirked up in amusement, "'Z' will do. _For now_."

There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. Zira swallowed. He had to be deluded. This handsome devil could not possibly be flirting with him, a mere mortal?

"May I ask what brings you here, Z?"

His voice was deep and just a little scratchy. Zira happened to have an itch to go with that scratch.

"You--r, uh, I mean your rowing class comes highly recommended. By a colleague. Yes, a colleague made a recommendation. To me."

"Ah, that's great, must be a _deeply_ satisfied customer", Mr Crowley tilted his head to one side. "What's their name?"

"His name is.. John!"

"Uh-huh."

"John - er.."

Don't let me say 'Smith', Zira begged his brain. It complied, offering a less than helpful alternative.

"John Smitten!"

He felt like taking his brain aside for a moment and giving it a damn good talking-to.

"Hm, doesn't ring a bell, but I'll check the database", Mr Crowley mused, eyes sliding down Zira's face, to his mouth. "I should probably reward Mr Smitten with a special discount. Maybe a private exercise session. After hours."

"Isn't this a 24/7 gym?", the accountant mumbled, wetting his lips.

"Yep. Definitely is."

Mr Crowley let the beat drag out deliciously as their eyes met again.

"Come on, then. Let me show you around the equipment."

Zira nodded eagerly, trying to stop his own gaze from shamelessly wandering down to where Mr Crowley's unbuttoned polo shirt clung to his sculpted chest, with just a hint of nipple poking through the soft material. And lower even, his shorts not leaving much to the imagination in terms of his private equipment.

Though he did do himself the favour of closely investigating that tight handful of an arse as he was following Mr Crowley up the stairs. Where else was he expected to look?

"Any muscle groups you're looking to exercise, in particular?" 

"Not specifically, no, I suppose, all of my body needs ample attention, you know, uh, exercise wise."

"Don't worry", Mr Crowley smirked at him at the top of the stairs, "I'll have you all hot and dripping with sweat in no time at all."

"Er -?"

Zira gaped at him, nervously tugging at the collar of the T-Shirt he had bought specifically for this occasion. He wasn't a T-Shirt kind of guy.

"We're not going to a-actually do anything today, are we? I just wanted to check out your bits, uh, I mean", he furiously bit his lip, "the gym bits, all these apparatuses, up here, to see if they're, um.. hygienic enough.."

"Oh, no, I _will_ make you exercise, Z", Mr Crowley gave a short, throaty laugh, "just a little. I need to know how hard I can push you tomorrow, in the class. Follow me."

Zira trotted after him, his face a vivid illustration of the expression 'to bite off more than you can chew', not that he usually experienced any problems in that department. Hence the need for the gym.

"Here we go."

Zira gasped, looking down at the bench in front of them, like staring into a pit of snakes. 

" _Weightlifting_?!"

"Oh yeah. Arm strength is crucial, for rowing, or carrying your spouse over the threshold one day, maybe." 

Mr Crowley offered him a mischievous grin that sparked two tiny flames behind his already bright irises.

"Let's do a bit of warm-up first."

Zira did pretty badly at the warm-up, he was so terribly clumsy. It was unfortunate that Mr Crowley had to demonstrate each move twice, the perfectly defined lean muscles of his arms and shoulders bulging and flexing underneath thin cotton.

On a few occasions the accountant still didn't get it, though, and a more hands-on approach was needed. Mr Crowley had to help and correct his posture, enveloping him in the heady smell of his aftershave, fingers skating expertly along his body and adjusting it as required.

By the end of the warm-up, Zira's heart was pumping so fast he was pretty sure he had burnt at least one of his breakfast muffins.

But, of course, Mr Crowley wasn't quite done with him yet.

"Now, lie down on the bench for me."

"Um.. are you sure I should -?", Zira panted.

Judging by the flare of Mr Crowley's pupils, he wasn't used to giving an instruction twice.

"Come on. On your back."

"Okay."

Zira carefully let himself down onto the bench. This didn't strike him as overly professional behaviour from an instructor, but he wasn't going to make a scene in the middle of a crowded gym.

"Trust me", Mr Crowley smiled down at him, a sudden predatory gleam in his eyes. "I'll be gentle with you."

Zira wasn't sure he found this reassuring. Hot as hell, yes, but not _reassuring_. He shifted a little to get comfortable, watching Mr Crowley walk around him and load weights onto the bar, lifting them so easily as if they were made of papier-mâché. 

"Alright, this should be easy enough", the instructor was crouched on the floor behind him now, out of sight, but Zira could feel his warm breath on his temple. "You'll do ten reps. I'll be your spotter."

"What?" He shivered helplessly.

"That means, I'll be watching you, very closely", Mr Crowley's voice pitched lower, weaving into the hair at the back of his head and making his scalp prickle, "making sure you don't hurt yourself with that big, hard thing in your face. Ready?"

Zira gave a shaky exhale, not at all ready for any of this, but it seemed the question had been asked rhetorically.

"Alright", his instructor straightened back up, "put your hands here, on the bar. Like this." 

Mr Crowley pushed against his fingers ever so slightly, moving them into the right position. Zira could feel that brief touch all the way down to his toes.

"Now, pull your core really tight. Breathe in, and bring the barbell down to your chest."

Zira did as he was told. The weights were comfortable enough, though the breathing part was challenging.

"Breathe out, extend your arms. Perfect."

"That's not too hard", Zira beamed up at him, thrilled with the praise.

"Yeah, that was rep one. Now do it again."

Mr Crowley was right. He had counted his chickens too early. 

By the fourth rep Zira definitely felt the burn, not helped by his instructor's eyes watching him so intently. 

By the sixth rep he could not stop himself from letting out an embarrassing little groan. 

By the eighth rep his skin was slick with sweat. A drop of it rolled down his nose onto his mouth and he licked it off, gazing up at his torturer. Mr Crowley drew his own lower lip between his teeth, not breaking eye contact for a moment.

".. I can't.. do this..", Zira gasped after the ninth rep.

"Yeah, you can. Come on, Z. One more."

Mr Crowley's hands were hovering just below his own, reassuring him.

"Ughhhh", the accountant grunted, straightening his arms one last time. He had always made fun of the fact that people in gyms liked to make those stupid, undignified noises, sounding like they were in the middle of giving birth to a child or two. Karma was a bitch.

"Attaboy!" Mr Crowley took the barbell from him, putting it back on the rack with a nod of approval. He looked genuinely pleased.

Zira sighed, letting his arms flop to his sides. He felt all warm and gooey, and not just because of the physical strain.

He hadn't been planning on doing this, but now he simply couldn't help himself, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins egging him on.

"So, er -", he looked up into Mr Crowley's eyes hovering above him, "- maybe, to say thank you for being my 'spotter', I could, uh.. treat you to a spotter lunch?"

His stomach did a happy little flip when Mr Crowley's brow quirked up for just a second before he was rewarded with the most radiant smile.

"Sure, why not. Let me just wrap up a few things. Meet you outside in five?"

It did not quite take Mr Crowley five minutes to step out of the gym, into the hustle of Soho's lunchtime hour. Thankfully, he had not bothered changing out of his uniform.

They walked in silence for a minute or so, down a busy street teeming with colourful pop-up food stalls, before taking a left turn into a quiet cul-de-sac. Zira couldn't take it then.

He stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, grabbing his fiancé by the collar and pulling him into a furious kiss.

"Oh, it's like that, is it", Ant grinned, pushing him against the door of the nearest terraced house, "you liked your little session then, Z?"

"It was fun."

"Hell yes."

"Can't believe you actually made me exercise", Zira panted, finally getting his hands on those gorgeous buns, "bastard!"

Ant took a little while to respond, too busy with sucking on his tongue.

"Did not expect those acting chops from you though."

"What, pretending like I have the hots for you? Oh, yeah, that was some serious method acting right there."

"And? Are you actually coming tomorrow?"

"Public perspiration at seven in the morning? Thanks, but no thanks."

"Aw", Ant pouted, interrupting the line he had started kissing down his still sweaty neck. "So, you making me lunch, that was also just an act."

"Hm."

Zira bit his lip, running his fingertips through his fiancé's tousled hair and down his body, all of this glory that was his to touch.

"You know that I have to get back in half an hour, right?", Ant smiled against his lips. "I can't get fired, or we won't be able to afford that Bentley for the wedding."

"We won't need half an hour", Zira reassured him, getting out a key and unlocking the door to their house, which, conveniently, happened to be the door they were already leaning against.

"But -"

"You make me come", Zira whispered into his ear before pulling him across the threshold by the collar, "and I make you lunch."

"Alright, that sounds like a fair arrangement."

**Author's Note:**

> So, I suppose, the twist was obvious, but I would be really interested to know at which point you realised or suspected what's really going on. Please let me know in the comments. :)


End file.
